Ichigaki's Daughter
by Bruja Chess
Summary: The legacy of Dr. Ichigaki lives on; can a reformed Team Urameshi, years after the Dark Tournament has closed, hope to end this legacy once and for all?  Contains OCs and dark content. Inspired by Nathaniel Hawthorne.


I should probably mention that the title of this story is paying odd homage to Nathaniel Hawthorne. One of his works inspired it. I'll leave which one unsaid. But, I DO want to say that the title doesn't refer to Ichigaki's BIOLOICAL daughter. Rather, expect a metaphorical one to surface. Any creature related to Ichigaki by blood would be a little disgusting, and I am not a masochist.

This will be written from a different first-person POV each chapter. I want to work on writing in distinctive voices. Expect a lot of introspection from the narrators when it comes their turn to speak.

Chapter 01: Kuwabara

I wasn't sure why Koenma called me. I just got a letter in the mail asking me to go to dinner at that really expensive place on the edge of town, you know the one: That fancy Japanese teahouse with waiters in formal kimono and dinner that's, like, ninety bucks a plate, all that sort of stuff. I could never have afforded a meal there on my own, not when I had college to pay for, so I only let myself feel a little worried by Koenma's big red seal on the bottom of the letter because I was hungry and it sounded good and I was sure he wouldn't ask me to do anything, you know, dangerous?

Still though, I wondered why he wanted to talk to _me_, especially in person. He didn't call any of us that much anymore, and when he did need someone to investigate something for Spirit World, he tended to call Yusuke. I mean, it made sense. Yusuke was well-respected in Demon World and he had more than a few contacts in Human World, and the rest of us… well, Kurama hasn't been into fighting as much as he used to now that he's sworn to never live as Yoko Kurama again until his life as Shuichi has passed, and Hiei's never liked taking orders from Koenma, anyway, and me? I was in school, not really fighting at all anymore aside from an occasional spar with Yusuke, and let's face it, I'm weaker than the others. I'm a total human. They're not. It is what it is.

But yeah, back to the letter. It told me the place and the date and the time and the dress code, but not much else, so I was more than a little ready to listen to my gut when it told me to _Call__Yusuke;__see__what__'__s__up._ Turns out, he'd gotten one of the letters, too, and so had Kurama. None of us were sure about Hiei. He'd shacked up with Mukuro, that one-eyed android lady, and even if he _did_ get one of the letters, I was sure he wouldn't show up. Fancy formal dinners just weren't the shrimp's style.

Anyway, Urameshi and I showed up to the dinner a little early. I was the one who wanted to; Yusuke would've been an hour late if left to himself, but Kurama was as on time as we were, appearing at the entrance to the restaurant's ground just as we did. The restaurant had, like, five or so acres of traditional Japanese gardens around it (for ambience or whatever) so we walked around on them for a bit just so we could catch up. I hadn't seen Kurama in months, but he looked good—his hair was as long as ever, his eyes their typical green, and he was still really, you know, _pretty_. The only thing that had changed was his aura. It seemed… I don't know, softer, maybe? I think living like a normal human had mellowed him out a bit.

"It has been quite pleasant," he admitted when I asked him about how he'd been doing. "A part of me wonders why I clung to my demonhood for so long, when being a human is so… relaxing."

Yusuke didn't agree, I don't think, because he snorted and rolled his eyes.

"If you call working at a ramen stand all the fucking time 'relaxing', then yeah, I guess you're right," he said. "If it weren't for Keiko and my mom, I'd've given up being a human ages ago."

Yusuke, too—he hadn't changed much. His face was narrower and maybe a little longer or something, but he still looked like he'd dunked his head in an oil slick and he still had the attention span of a five year old, not to mention he fidgeted in his formal wear the way any hyperactive kid does.

"But would living as a demon be worth it, if it meant not having Keiko or your mother in your life?" Kurama wanted to know.

Yusuke looked a little guilty after that.

"Not really, I guess," he admitted. "I just miss fighting like I used to." He let out a growl, more demon than human for a second, and it made me jump a little when his power flared from sky-blue to cobalt in agitation. "The tournament can't come quick enough!"

"You only have to wait one more year to dethrone Enki, Yusuke," Kurama teased. "For all your impatience, I know you can wait _that_ long."

"Not without going crazy, I can't!"

I watched them talk without trying to join in. I wasn't going to participate in the Demon World tournament, not a chance, even though a part of me wished I could get back in the ring with my old friends just one more time, but they were all way too strong for me by then. I'd gone off to college while they fought and got stronger and stronger, and while I wouldn't give up my education for anything... I mean, it was a point of pride for me, _me_!, the kid who almost got kicked out of middle school but who got into a top high school, and then a top university despite his juvenile record and the doubts of everyone who knew him—yeah, I liked knowing that of all my friends, I was the only one who was on track to get a degree, and a good one, too. Even Kurama hadn't gone to college so he could work for his stepdad, and knowing that I had a leg up on a certified genius made me feel better about not being very strong.

Not that it doesn't still bother me, though. I go to the gym five times a week to keep in shape, but still, when I look in the mirror and see what my muscle has turned into, I almost feel sick. I'm in great shape, that much is true, but it's not the same sort of shape I used to be. I've always been burly, muscular, built like an ox, whatever you want to call it, and I still am, but what used to be slabs of street-fighting _brawn_ is now… pretty-boy muscle. It's attractive and stuff (girls seem to like it), but for me… well, lifting weights just doesn't do for me what fighting did.

When it got closer to the time we were supposed to meet Koenma, conversation slipped to the dinner instead of our lives. Kurama had no idea what Koenma wanted, but he did mention that Hiei had dropped by to speak with him a few days earlier. Turns out the shrimp had gotten a letter, too.

"Not that he'll show," Yusuke remarked. "He must love being out from under the toddler's thumb. He'll never come back."

"Oh, I don't know, Yusuke," Kurama said. He cocked his head off to the side, eyes going far-away for a second. "Can't you feel that?"

Urameshi paused. I did, too, extending my awareness outside of myself, and then I felt it—a bright spark of fire-like energy hovering a few hundred feet away, at the edge of the property. It was unmistakably Hiei; I wondered how I hadn't noticed it before. I'd always been the most spiritually aware of all of us, but I hadn't even sensed…

"Hiei must miss us," I said to cover my nerves. Seems I'd gotten sloppy in more ways than one.

Yusuke looked at me in horror. He asked: "D'ya think he heard you say that?"

I shrugged. Kurama looked like he'd heard a really funny joke.

"I daresay you should sleep with your eyes open, Kuwabara," he said. "But, in all seriousness, Hiei is curious. Not enough to actually come to dinner, of course, but enough to spy on us, at the very least."

I could understand that, being curious myself, and I said so. Yusuke agreed with me, as did Kurama.

"I mean, that's the only reason I came here," I said. "That and I'm pretty much broke and Koenma's paying, so…"

We'd neared the restaurant itself by then, so I wasn't too surprised to hear a familiar voice greet us with: "Glad to know you only like me for my credit card, Kuwabara."

Koenma looked like a teenager... so, for once, he looked younger than us in a form other than his toddler one. It was weird being twenty two years old; it was weirder to think that Koenma's teen form used to be my age. Where had the time gone? Probably nowhere, in Koenma's case. He (or his disguise, at least) hadn't aged a day.

The restaurant's staff picked that moment to greet us and stuff, so we didn't get a chance to ask Koenma what this was all about until after a pretty waitress in full kimono led us to a private room. Places had been set for ten people at a long low table, an old-fashioned _chabudai_; the four of us were the only ones there, though. Were other people coming?

"Expecting company?" Yusuke asked as we settled in. "What's this all about, anyway?"

"Yes, and—" Koenma said. Before he could continue, waiters swooped in to give us hot towels so we could clean our hands. Urameshi embarrassed us by mopping his face with his, but the wait staff was well-trained enough to not make a comment.

Koenma waited until they left to talk.

"Honestly," he said, "I don't know why we're here. Not really, anyway."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Yusuke said.

Koenma responded by pulling an envelope out of his pocket. He handed it to Kurama, who took it and pulled out a notecard covered in elegant kanji.

"I received that from Botan last week," he explained as Kurama scanned the letter. "Apparently it had been mailed to Genkai at the temple."

Kurama looked up from his reading with a frown. Yusuke went very quiet. I raised my eyebrows in confusion.

"But Genkai passed away years ago," I said. "She left us the temple and everything—did they not hear?"

"Apparently not," Kurama said. He handed the letter to me, meeting my eyes above the paper. "You might find this interesting," he said softly. "You, in particular."

I stared at him in confusion. What did _that_ mean?

"Hey, let me read!" Yusuke said. He elbowed into my side and peered at the letter over my shoulder. Then he squinted. "Uh, what's that third kanji mean?"

I looked for it, then rolled my eyes. "_Really_, Urameshi?"

"Yeah, really."

"You're such a dumbass. It means 'letter'."

"Oh." He paused for a second. Then he asked: "And the fifth?"

I pulled the letter away from him.

"Since you're so stupid, I'll read it aloud," I said (and while Yusuke did mutter a bit, he didn't exactly complain). "Listen: 'Master Genkai, I hope this letter finds you well. I humbly write on behalf of my students, whom you once honored by saving from a fate worse than death, and who require your gracious assistance once again.'"

I stopped reading to look at Kurama and ask: "Who's he talking about?"

"Keep reading," he only said.

I sighed and cleared my throat. I could never catch a break.

'… I know you only knew my students for a short while, but you and I met long before I took them as my pupils, and I daresay we were friends. So, when I ask you to do me the honor of a favor—because I will soon do just that—I pray that you comply if not for their sakes, then for the sake of our bond as fellow masters of the sacred martial arts.'

'I shall be frank: I desire an audience with Koenma himself, prince of the Spirit World and heir to its throne. I had no way of contacting him, other than through you, and without shame I say that I beg you, on hand and knee, to forward this letter into his venerable presence. He, alongside the warriors who made up the Dark Tournament's Team Urameshi, are the only ones I can envision aiding my students, and I cannot stress how important it is to have them hear our plea in person. I cannot discuss their troubles in a letter with clear conscience, as they are not my troubles to convey.'

'I have enclosed an address and a telephone number at which I might be contacted; please, for my sake, do hurry.'

'Yours in gratitude, respect, and admiration: Metamura Makoto'

"He sounds like he has a major stick up his ass," Yusuke said when I set the letter down. "Who actually talks like that anymore?"

I ignored him and looked at the signature for a long time, turning it over in my head because it seemed familiar. _Really_ familiar, in fact, like the way people in a dream seem familiar even though you can't quite see their faces. Kurama watched my face the whole time, as if expecting me to figure it out at any moment; it made me nervous, which made it harder to think.

"And I don't get it," Yusuke said. "Who the hell is this Metamura guy? And what does he want with us?"

As if on cue, the door to the room slid open.

I recognized the four men the minute I saw them. The shortest one's mop of orange hair, hair that hid his eyes but not his buckteeth, was distinctive, after all, but even so I still recognized the more ordinary face of the taller brunette standing behind him. That one's forehead had a cross-shaped scar on it, which was almost as recognizable as the tallest man's long black braid of hair and the two vertical scars that trailed down his cheeks like tear tracks.

None of those three were Metamura, however. Metamura entered the room last, behind them, shuffling a little from age and long-suffered illness. His brown hair had thinned and he looked sallow, but he wasn't on death's door, not the way he had been when we saw him in the Dark Tournament, because yeah—that's where I knew him from.

Standing before us were the Ms—M1, M2, M3, and their master, Metamura, the man Doctor Ichigaki had poisoned so he could trick his pupils into giving their bodies over to his insane experiments.


End file.
